The time jarred with Brady. He was running over. Things were starting to get away from him. If he wasn’t careful he would lose the plot.
It was clear to Brady that this was a man in his mid to late fifties who loved his daughters. Spoiled them, as much as he spoiled his forty-something wife.
Ryecroft had his own business in construction. A self-made man who had made good. Brady imagined the women in his life played him like a fiddle. Not one of them would be wanting for anything. Which explained why his missing sixteen-year-old daughter attended a private school in Tynemouth, sporting her fake breasts amongst other material possessions.
‘I … I …’ Ryecroft broke down. Tears streamed down his jowly, lined face as he dropped his head, unable to look at Brady.
A knock at the door broke the awkward moment.
Conrad walked in.
‘Sir,’ he greeted when he saw Brady sitting across the table from the Ryecrofts.
Tactfully pretending not to pick up on Ryecroft’s breakdown, Conrad placed a steaming black coffee in front of him.
‘Two sugars, sir,’ Conrad said.
He turned to Michelle Ryecroft, whose red-rimmed blue eyes watched Conrad for a sign. Any sign of hope from the outside world, instead of the hell that she was living in the interview room.
‘White tea, two sweeteners,’ Conrad said. His steel-grey eyes were filled with sympathy, his voice filled with professionalism. Finally, he placed the chilled can of Coke Zero down in front of Lucy Ryecroft. He shot her a warm, gentle smile before pulling a chair out and sitting down beside his boss.
Lucy Ryecroft uttered a weak, ‘Thanks.’
Her eyes weren’t only the same colour blue as her mother. They were also just as red-rimmed and puffy from crying. Her pubescent skin was patchy with red blotches and trails of black smudged mascara. Her blonde highlighted hair had been scraped back into an aggressive, angry ponytail.
It looked to Brady’s eye as if she was trying her hardest to get back to being a kid again. No GHD straighteners had been used that morning. Nor had foundation with eyeliner and lipgloss. Instead, she was wearing a baggy Hollister t-shirt, her scrawny arms covered in bruises and nail indentations where she had gripped them so hard that she’d broken the skin.
The painful, troubled adult world was now too dangerous and dark for her to want to cross over into. After all, her older sister who had tried to grow up too fast, too hard, had disappeared.
And the one unspoken question, the elephant in the room, was whether the headless girl washed up on the beach was Melissa Ryecroft.
Brady swallowed hard.
He had some painful questions to ask.
First, one had to be directed at the person who held herself responsible for Melissa’s disappearance: her younger sister.
‘Lucy?’ Brady gently began.
She dragged her red, bloodshot eyes up to Brady’s. They shone with a mixture of fear and self-loathing.
‘I’ve got to say that from what I’ve read of your statement, you’ve really been a great help. But …’ Brady paused, gauging her reaction.
The girl looked like a rabbit caught in headlights.
‘You say that Melissa got on a train to London, early Thursday evening. Yes?’
Lucy nodded.
It didn’t go unmissed by Brady that she had bitten her bottom lip hard, causing blood to trickle out.
‘Here,’ Brady offered as he handed her a tissue from the box beside him.
She didn’t understand.
‘Your lip,’ Brady gently said.
‘Oh … thanks,’ she mumbled as she tasted the blood.
‘What I don’t understand is, if she had left on the 5:30pm train to King’s Cross, why update her Facebook page shortly beforehand, saying the exact opposite?’
Lucy looked at Brady, startled.
She obviously hadn’t realised that the first thing Brady got Harvey to do when the Ryecrofts had reported her as missing was check out her Facebook page. And to see whether she blogged or used Twitter.
‘Did she get on the train or was she met by someone?’
Tears started to flow down the young girl’s face.
She looked nervously from her mother and then to her father’s anguished face.
‘She made me promise not to tell,’ whispered Lucy.
It was barely loud enough for Brady to hear.
He noticed the Ryecrofts tense at their daughter’s admission.
‘Oh my God … Lucy? What? What didn’t you tell us?’ questioned Michelle Ryecroft, her voice shaking.
Brian Ryecroft’s eyes flashed with a sudden anger.
Brady looked at them, wishing they weren’t in on the interview. But Lucy Ryecroft was a minor; he had no choice. He could have a social worker here with her, but her parents had refused. Wanting to be present. Not wanting to let another child disappear from their sight.
‘She … she was flying down to London.’
Brady nodded.
He already suspected that was the case. He had just had a look at her Facebook page.
Melissa had updated her wall from her mobile stating that she was flying first class, all expenses paid, accompanied by her agent for a meeting at Models 1 agency.
Powerful stuff, thought Brady. Especially for a sixteen-year-old kid.
‘They said first class,’ Lucy whispered. ‘That they were paying. All she had to do was turn up with her passport and an overnight bag …’
‘Was she just supposed to be staying the night?’ Brady asked.
Lucy nodded, head down. Eyes fixed on her small, delicate hands.
‘So, when was she supposed to return?’
‘About 5ish yesterday. To make it look as if she had been at school all day …’
Brady frowned.
‘She told Mum and Dad that she was staying over at Libby’s house to revise. She said they’d be up late studying so it was better that she stayed the night and that they’d then go to school together the next day.’
Brady looked at Brian and Michelle Ryecroft. Their expressions told Brady that this was exactly what had happened; their eldest daughter had played them.
‘Why did she tell you all this, Lucy?’ questioned Brady.
It seemed odd that Melissa would go to so much trouble hiding this from her parents to then tell her younger sister.
It didn’t add up.
‘She’d gone to get a shower last weekend. It was Sunday night I think and I … I had gone into her bedroom and … checked out what she was up to on her computer. The page was still up and it was on her Facebook page. Some guy had written on her wall that she was stunning. Real model material. He asked her to email him her contact details and he’d start talking to people in London to arrange a meeting and a photo shoot. All at his expense. He suggested that if she was up for it, he could get her in front of them on Friday. Yesterday …’
‘Do you remember his name?’
Lucy shook her head.
‘No … before I could read any more Melissa had suddenly come back in. She’d forgotten something.’
Brady tried not to show his disappointment. A name would have been good. But then again he mused, whoever this bastard was, he definitely wouldn’t be using his real name.
Harvey and Kodovesky had gone through her Facebook account and no such message was on her wall. Brady presumed she must have taken it down. Worried perhaps, that one of her friends might mention it to their parents, out of teenage jealousy and spite. Brady imagined that a good-looking girl like Melissa would have her fair share of envious admirers.
‘What made you decide to sneak in to her bedroom?’ asked Brady.
A look briefly crossed Lucy’s face which spoke of a history of sibling rivalry. She then shrugged.
‘You know? Like, there was something different about her …’
‘Go on,’ prompted Brady gently.
‘She was … more arrogant than usual,’ Lucy said as she shot her father a nervous glance.
Brian Ryecroft on the other hand looked agitated. But he kept his mouth firmly shut. Even though it was clear that he didn’t agree with his younger daughter’s perception of her older sister.
‘She also kept saying things like, she wouldn’t be finishing sixth form because she was going to move to London soon. That she was going to be a model. That … that there were people, important people who believed in her. Said that she had something special. That they could make her famous, like. You know? A supermodel like Gisele Bundchen or Kate Moss or something? Stupid stuff like that. That … that she might then move to Europe …’
‘Did she have a boyfriend?’ Brady asked, realising that a girl Melissa’s age wouldn’t be making such grand plans on her own.
‘No,’ answered Brian Ryecroft quickly.
Too quickly for Brady.
Ryecroft looked across at his wife for backup.
She shook her head but Brady couldn’t help noticing the tears welling up in her eyes again.
He thought back to Wolfe’s autopsy findings. The victim had had an abortion as recently as a month ago. An abortion that hadn’t gone as planned.
‘But surely she must have had one. Beautiful girl like Melissa, I imagine she must have had lots of boys chasing her.’
‘What about Marijuis?’ Lucy asked innocently, as she turned to her mother.
Michelle Ryecroft’s face clearly told her daughter to keep quiet.
‘Who’s Marijuis?’ asked Brady, throwing a sideways glance at Conrad, who looked as surprised and as intrigued as Brady.
The statement that Brady and Conrad had both independently read had stated quite clearly that Melissa Ryecroft did not have a boyfriend. Boyfriends were always the first in line for questioning in a murder investigation. As were the parents. But only a fool would think that either her mother or, more likely according to the statistics, her father, were involved in their daughter’s disappearance. And horrific murder. If it was indeed her body that had washed up on Whitley Bay beach.
Both parents were clearly beside themselves with grief and anguish at what might have happened to their daughter. And at this point, Brady could honestly say that Brian Ryecroft didn’t seem capable of harming his daughter, let alone carrying out the heinous crimes committed on the decapitated murder victim lying in the hospital morgue.
‘We don’t know, alright?’ snapped Brian Ryecroft suddenly, taking Brady by surprise.
Brady looked at him.
‘I’m sorry, all I’m trying to do is establish some facts that could help us find your daughter,’ apologised Brady.
It was clear that Melissa had had a boyfriend. Ryecroft’s reaction was too telling. And the anger in his voice told Brady that this boyfriend had hurt his little girl.
‘That’s if you haven’t already found her,’ replied Brian Ryecroft as his eyes started to water.
‘Well … the reason for this line of questioning is to establish whether the girl we have at Rake Lane Hospital is in fact Melissa. Rather than take you straight there for identification purposes.’
Brian Ryecroft bent his head forward, resting it in his large, trembling hands.
‘I know … I’m sorry … I … just want my baby back … I just want Melissa …’ he choked.
‘Dad?’ questioned Lucy, scared.
Brady had no choice but to continue. It wouldn’t matter if he stopped the interview. Questions would still have to be answered. Whether it was now or later.
‘Who was Marijuis?’ he asked, ignoring Brian Ryecroft’s breakdown.
‘He … he was Melissa’s boyfriend,’ whispered Lucy as she nervously looked at her father. ‘Mum and Dad didn’t know until … until it was too late …’
‘Do you have any contact details for him?’ asked Brady, looking directly at Lucy’s mother.
Michelle Ryecroft shook her head as her pale, long-fingered hand fluttered nervously around her throat.
‘We believe Melissa met him in Budapest when she went on holiday for her sixteenth birthday with a group of girls last November.’
‘What, for the breast augmentation operation?’ asked Brady.
‘No … that … that came after. She came home with this crazy idea that she wanted larger breasts. And she had checked everything out. The clinic in Budapest, the cost … everything.’
‘Who gave her the idea?’ asked Brady.
Michelle Ryecroft looked over at her husband. His head still hung down in defeat, but his large hands were now resting on the edge of the desk clenched so hard his knuckles were white.
‘It … it was that Marijuis … the man she met on holiday.’
‘Man?’ questioned Brady as Brian Ryecroft’s knuckles clenched even tighter.
‘When Melissa eventually told us he was twenty-eight that’s when we … we tried to stop her contacting him.’
‘Bastard!’ cursed Ryecroft.
‘Brian!’ hissed his wife.
‘Well … what other word would you use to describe him? Apart from paedo!’
Michelle Ryecroft didn’t answer him. Nor did she disagree.
‘How were they communicating?’ asked Brady.
‘Texting … or phone calls,’ answered Michelle Ryecroft.
‘On her BlackBerry?’ asked Brady, realising he would have to get Harvey to chase up her call details dating back from last November.
Michelle Ryecroft nodded.
‘So why let her go back for the breast augmentation surgery?’
Michelle Ryecroft thought about it.
‘Because she talked about nothing else. She wanted it as a Christmas present. Had this idea that she wanted to be a model. And to be one, she needed to have larger breasts … you know what it’s like …’ she explained apologetically.
Brian Ryecroft shook his head.
‘We … we made her promise that if we paid for the operation she would never see Marijuis again. And … and she agreed.’
Lucy shifted uncomfortably in her seat.
‘Oh Lucy … no … Tell me you didn’t know that Melissa was still seeing him?’
Lucy nodded, too scared to speak.
Brian Ryecroft’s head suddenly lifted, spinning round to face his eleven-year-old daughter. The look on his face was pure rage.
‘Lucy?’ gently questioned Brady as he leaned forward.
‘I … used to look at her BlackBerry, like. When she’d leave it lying around. I’d … I’d just play around on it …’
‘Look at her messages maybe?’ asked Brady.
‘Something like that. There were all these messages there … ’cos that’s all she ever did was text. And they were mainly from someone named “Mandy”. It was obvious it was him, you know? And his English was lousy which is how I knew.’
‘You sure it wasn’t just text speak?’
She nervously looked at him and shook her head.
‘I think I know bad English like, from text speak.’
She then dropped her eyes and began fidgeting with the ringpull on the Coke can.
‘Go on,’ Brady encouraged.
She took another tentative sip of Coke as she thought about it.
She then nodded, putting down the drink before apprehensively looking at Brady.
‘She told me that she was going with him to London. That he was the one who had contacted the model scout because he believed in her. He arranged it all. Gave the scout her details and … you know the rest.’
‘Do you know have any idea who it was who put this message on Melissa’s Facebook page about the model agency, Lucy?’
Lucy numbly shook her head.
‘No … I have no idea …’
Brady watched her as she looked away, tears filling her eyes.
‘What did she promise you to make you keep all this a secret?’
Lucy looked back at Brady, weighing up whether she should say.
‘She said that I could have her Superdry jacket
and … and her BlackBerry.’
‘You’ve got her phone?’ asked Brady.
‘No, I got the jacket before she left and she promised me her phone when she got back on Friday afternoon … She … she said that Marijuis was buying her an iPhone 4S for agreeing to go to the meeting in London,’ replied Lucy, biting her lip again.
The realisation that her sister hadn’t returned was hitting her hard.
‘Lucy? Why didn’t you say? Why didn’t you tell us any of this?’ questioned Michelle Ryecroft, her face ashen.
‘I … I … promised Melissa …’ mumbled Lucy. ‘I … I just thought she’d got delayed coming back from London … The last thing I was going to do was have her think I was a snitch …’
‘Was the name of the clinic in Budapest Virenyos by any chance?’ Brady turned to Michelle Ryecroft.
He didn’t need her to answer; the reaction on her face was enough.
‘How? How did you know …’ she asked before her face crumpled with realisation.
Brady decided not to ask whether her daughter had had an abortion. They had already gone through enough. If Melissa had, he was certain that she would never have told her parents. The internal scarring on her body was telling enough in itself.
*
‘Sir?’ Brady said, stopping Brian Ryecroft before he left the interview room.
He turned and nodded at Conrad to close the door behind him.
Brady had chosen to wait until his wife and daughter had left before having a word with Ryecroft.
Brian Ryecroft eyed Brady suspiciously.
Brady swallowed. His throat was dry. The words were difficult to speak.
‘I’ve arranged for a family liaison officer to take you to Rake Lane Hospital, sir,’ began Brady, unable to bring himself to say the word ‘morgue’.
Ryecroft shook his head.
‘There’s no need. I have my car outside. I’d rather drive.’
‘I recommend that your wife drives your daughter home and you and the liaison officer go ahead without them,’ Brady suggested.
Vanishing Point Page 13
